I enjoy my obsessions. Generally, I’m good at avoiding fixations that don’t fit my own oddball version of fun. The Hozier music is becoming manageable now; fever’s broken, ah… I think of old musical passions, planning to revisit them. Fred Small. John Prine. Steve Forbert. My dear Harry Chapin.
In my car this week, I’ve actually turned off the Hozier CD and listened to the usual radio station junk, knowing Hozier was just one button push away. It’s always a relief with infatuations, when they fade into the pace of life rather than taking over with their own powerful demand for brainwaves. In this case, the music slithered in from the background, on the radio, gradually more often until the whole radio band was buzzing with it in that way you can hardly get away from. I hate it when the current most popular noise hurts my ears. I quickly craved, got to hunting for, the church song. Pushing buttons. Found it on-line, gave in to the thrill of obsessing.
For a month or two there, I couldn’t get enough of the take me to church, let me give you my life poetry/music/voice. I was surprised, as I often am lately, with my sudden lust. I wanted these sounds in my ear at every opportunity. Then I found more songs… a dozen more… bought the CD at Starbucks. My life: work, sleep, write, listen to Hozier.
Understated warning: this music might not be for everyone. Love, oh, yes; kissing and holding, Honey, Babe, darling. Sweet as cherry wine. Truth, quaking. But also, bar songs and corpses, poisons, scum, dirt, hanging, animals and gods. Love and abuse, right out there. Open hand or closed fist. Frozen devotion. We could just kiss.
For me, songs are always first the lyrics, the poetry and stories, the language. With Hozier’s songs, I’m still absorbing the nuances, sorting the overlapping stories, embroidering characters, having new thoughts. Just like understanding a dream, you can hear a song from any point of view, imagine any meaning that fits your mind when the music steps in. I’ve been listening long enough and close enough to have imagined at least 13×13 interpretations of the words. All this nestles nicely in my mind; the experience of holding it is enjoyable, in some way similar to reading a great long novel.
The music: guitar, that acoustic sliding sound, always a good feeling for me. Otherwise, I don’t have the exact vocabulary to say why, but I LOVE IT! It holds the lyrics well, escorts all the words in and gives them seats in my mind. I can sing along, even howl a bit on my own. Then, as happens with too-oft played pesky hits on the radio, little bits of song echo internally, dancing long after the power’s off. You can’t turn off that brain wiggle, and, usually, it’s annoying. Except, Honey, Babe… I’m loving my little Hozier hiccups, ear kisses for my quiet days. Feels good, God, it feels good!